Catherine sighed her disappointment. “Perhaps you have something else I could do? You know I could spend every waking hour around books if I were given the chance.”
From the time she had been a young girl, Catherine had loved books. The smell of ink and vellum, vanilla, and leather. The feel of a cloth binding against her hand as she read the book. The look of them lined up on a library shelf. When it came time to choose which chipboard-clad books deserved a leather binding, she argued their merits, and her father usually agreed.
Books were their very best when lined up in a bookshop, their bindings unbroken and begging to be chosen. She had already been to Hatchett’s earlier that week to peruse the new offerings, and following their literary society meeting at Mrs. Peabody’s house, she and Eliza had spent an hour shopping at the Temple of the Muses in Finsbury Square.
Remaindered books were the latter’s specialty, and because remaindered books were less expensive than the newly released titles, the Temple of the Muses had the reputation of being the cheapest bookseller in London.
“Do you have a position for me here?” she prompted.
Cornelius tore his appreciative gaze from Eliza. “I have nothing for you, my dear,” he replied.
Visibly disappointed, Catherine sighed. “Is it my lack of experience? Because I’m willing to start at the very bottom.” She glanced out of his office to see Brian wheeling another cart of books towards the back door. “Even Brian’s position, should you wish to promote him, or I could load the sorts into the type case form for the press,” she suggested, referring to the movable type required for letterpress printing. She had watched the process being done on a number of occasions, soon realizing one had to think backward when loading the forms.
“It’s not for lack of experience, I assure you,” he replied. “But I’ll not have you working anywhere near a printing press. It’s dirty and dangerous work. Your beautiful hands would be permanently stained with ink.”
Catherine glanced down at her gloved hands. “I could read manuscripts,” she offered.
“I already have someone—several someones—who do that,” he countered. “They’ve worked here for years, darling.”
Disappointed, Catherine nodded. “Well, thank you for seeing me. Will you be home for dinner?”
He shook his head, his attention briefly going to Eliza. “I’m going to a pub and then to my club. I won’t be home too late, though. I have meetings all day tomorrow.”
Catherine nodded. “I’ll let the cook know,” she said. She stood and gave Eliza a beseeching glance as the matron joined her at the door.
“It’s very good to see you again, Mrs. Buxton,” Cornelius said, bowing.
“Oh, do call me Eliza,” she said, giving him a curtsy. “It’s so good to see you, too, sir.”
Catherine watched her father for more hints that he had an interest in the widow—interest beyond the friendship they had developed over the years of Catherine hosting Eliza for dinners at Kingston House. Her father had been alone far too long in life, and Eliza was young enough to give him a babe or two if he wanted more children.
If he wanted an heir.
So it was a bit of a shock when he said, “Why, if my daughter ever saw fit to marrying someone, I would like to court you, Eliza, if you would be amenable.”
Catherine was sure she saw him wink at Eliza, and she immediately wondered if she had missed something between the two of them.
Eliza inhaled softly, dipping her head and once again displaying a pink blush. “I would be amenable, of course, Mr. Kingston,” she replied happily.
Catherine audibly gasped. “Marrying someone?” she repeated. “At my age?”
“Come now, Cathy, you’re not even thirty, and I’ve set aside a hefty dowry for you,” Cornelius claimed.
Catherine blinked. “You have?”
“It’s not as if I expect you to marry a blue blood, but there must be a merchant or a member of the gentry in need of a clever wife. Someone to keep his library organized,” Cornelius went on. “Perhaps there’s a matchmaker we could employ to expedite an arrangement for you.” His tone was teasing.
If ever there was a moment when Catherine Kingston thought she might faint, it was this one. She was suddenly lightheaded, her father’s face looking as if it was swimming in a vat of oil. “I’ll have… to give it some… thought,” she stammered, her hand gripping the door jamb so hard, she was sure her knuckles were white.
“Do that,” he encouraged. “I’m quite sure Mrs. Buxton… uh, Eliza,” he corrected himself, “would prefer to run the household without you underfoot.”
Catherine blinked. How long had her father and Eliza been planning a life together? Without her? Had she misheard them? Had her father actually proposed to her best friend and neither of them had seen fit to tell her? They had allowed her to continue on thinking that she was…well, what was she now? He would sire an heir to his publishing house, and she would be left behind. A spinster without a means of support, a third wheel to their budding relationship. Useless and without a vocation. But not because of her lack of efforts!
Obviously torn about the situation, Eliza directed a beseeching glance at Catherine before she said, “Perhaps undertaking an avocation outside of Kingston House would be a good start?”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” Catherine countered. “I’ve been asking for any position here at Kingston Publishing for years.”
Eliza straightened her shoulders. “Mayhap it’s time to consider somethingelseof interest to you. Another place of employment,” she suggested quietly, before glancing nervously at Cornelius. “Or a place in need of a clever volunteer? Some place you could still work with books. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Mr. Kingston?”
